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2018 || 2

Nothing but black surrounds, bin men in the hollows, rabbits on the tops, and the valley road is quiet.

Light lingering noticeably longer even on overcast days, a strange purple-grey sky and a luminous sea, sing-a-long to James bonus tailwind along the coast commute.

Low winter sun softens the hills but they still make the legs ache. The sea blinds as a vapour trail drifts into a question mark. Down in the harbour a truck trickles a trail of gravel like Hansel & Gretel. I follow it as far as the lagoon.

From the window cracks in the cloud hint that it might be worth getting out early. Sunrise doesn’t disappoint.

Waves crashing over concrete caught in my headlight sparkle for a moment like dying fireworks. Up on the cliffs I’m cut off from the tye by the steady flow of traffic. The long way round before a moments peace on the hill. A world muted by a thick mauve except for an amber sliver.

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